George Crabbe

Tale VI Poem by George Crabbe

THE FRANK COURTSHIP.

Grave Jonas Kindred, Sybil Kindred's sire,Was six feet high, and look'd six inches higher;Erect, morose, determined, solemn, slow,Who knew the man could never cease to know:His faithful spouse, when Jonas was not by,Had a firm presence and a steady eye;But with her husband dropp'd her look and tone,And Jonas ruled unquestion'd and alone.He read, and oft would quote the sacred words,How pious husbands of their wives were lords;Sarah called Abraham Lord! and who could be,So Jonas thought, a greater man than he?Himself he view'd with undisguised respect,And never pardon'd freedom or neglect.They had one daughter, and this favourite childHad oft the father of his spleen beguiled;Soothed by attention from her early years,She gained all wishes by her smiles or tears;But Sybil then was in that playful time,When contradiction is not held a crime;When parents yield their children idle praiseFor faults corrected in their after days.Peace in the sober house of Jonas dwelt,Where each his duty and his station felt:Yet not that peace some favour'd mortals find,In equal views and harmony of mind;Not the soft peace that blesses those who love,Where all with one consent in union move;But it was that which one superior willCommands, by making all inferiors still;Who bids all murmurs, all objections, cease,And with imperious voice announces--Peace!They were, to wit, a remnant of that crew,Who, as their foes maintain, their Sovereign slew;An independent race, precise, correct,Who ever married in the kindred sect:No son or daughter of their order wedA friend to England's king who lost his head;Cromwell was still their Saint, and when they met,They mourn'd that Saints were not our rulers yet.Fix'd were their habits; they arose betimes,Then pray'd their hour, and sang their party-

rhymes:Their meals were plenteous, regular and plain;The trade of Jonas brought him constant gain;Vender of hops and malt, of coals and corn -And, like his father, he was merchant born:Neat was their house; each table, chair, and stool,Stood in its place, or moving moved by rule;No lively print or picture graced the room;A plain brown paper lent its decent gloom;But here the eye, in glancing round, survey'dA small recess that seem'd for china made;Such pleasing pictures seem'd this pencill'd ware,That few would search for nobler objects there -Yet, turn'd by chosen friends, and there appear'dHis stern, strong features, whom they all revered;For there in lofty air was seen to standThe bold Protector of the conquer'd land;Drawn in that look with which he wept and swore,Turn'd out the Members, and made fast the door,Ridding the House of every knave and drone,Forced, though it grieved his soul, to rule alone.The stern still smile each friend approving gave,Then turn'd the view, and all again were grave.There stood a clock, though small the owner's

need,For habit told when all things should proceed;Few their amusements, but when friends appear'd,They with the world's distress their spirits

cheer'd;The nation's guilt, that would not long endureThe reign of men so modest and so pure:Their town was large, and seldom pass'd a dayBut some had fail'd, and others gone astray;Clerks had absconded, wives eloped, girls flownTo Gretna-Green, or sons rebellious grown;Quarrels and fires arose;--and it was plainThe times were bad; the Saints had ceased to reign!A few yet lived, to languish and to mournFor good old manners never to return.Jonas had sisters, and of these was oneWho lost a husband and an only son:Twelve months her sables she in sorrow wore,And mourn'd so long that she could mourn no more.Distant from Jonas, and from all her race,She now resided in a lively place;There, by the sect unseen, at whist she play'd,Nor was of churchman or their church afraid:If much of this the graver brother heard,He something censured, but he little fear'd;He knew her rich and frugal; for the rest,He felt no care, or, if he felt, suppress'd:Nor for companion when she ask'd her Niece,Had he suspicions that disturb'd his peace;Frugal and rich, these virtues as a charmPreserved the thoughtful man from all alarm;An infant yet, she soon would home return,Nor stay the manners of the world to learn;Meantime his boys would all his care engross,And be his comforts if he felt the loss.The sprightly Sybil, pleased and unconfined,Felt the pure pleasure of the op'ning mind:All here was gay and cheerful--all at homeUnvaried quiet and unruffled gloom:There were no changes, and amusements few; -Here all was varied, wonderful, and new;There were plain meals, plain dresses, and grave

looks -Here, gay companions and amusing books;And the young Beauty soon began to tasteThe light vocations of the scene she graced.A man of business feels it as a crimeOn calls domestic to consume his time;Yet this grave man had not so cold a heart,But with his daughter he was grieved to part:And he demanded that in every yearThe Aunt and Niece should at his house appear.'Yes! we must go, my child, and by our dressA grave conformity of mind express;Must sing at meeting, and from cards refrain,The more t'enjoy when we return again.'Thus spake the Aunt, and the discerning childWas pleased to learn how fathers are beguiled.Her artful part the young dissembler took,And from the matron caught th' approving look:When thrice the friends had met, excuse was sentFor more delay, and Jonas was content;Till a tall maiden by her sire was seen,In all the bloom and beauty of sixteen;He gazed admiring;--she, with visage prim,Glanced an arch look of gravity on him;For she was gay at heart, but wore disguise,And stood a vestal in her father's eyes:Pure, pensive, simple, sad; the damsel's heart,When Jonas praised, reproved her for the part.For Sybil, fond of pleasure, gay and light,Had still a secret bias to the right;Vain as she was--and flattery made her vain -Her simulation gave her bosom pain.Again return'd, the Matron and the NieceFound the late quiet gave their joy increase;The aunt infirm, no more her visits paid,But still with her sojourn'd the favourite maid.Letters were sent when franks could be procured,And when they could not, silence was endured;All were in health, and if they older grew,It seem'd a fact that none among them knew;The aunt and niece still led a pleasant life,And quiet days had Jonas and his wife.Near him a Widow dwelt of worthy fame,Like his her manners, and her creed the same;The wealth her husband left, her care retain'dFor one tall Youth, and widow she remain'd;His love respectful all her care repaid,Her wishes watch'd, and her commands obey'd.Sober he was and grave from early youth,Mindful of forms, but more intent on truth:In a light drab he uniformly dress'd,And look serene th' unruffled mind express'd;A hat with ample verge his brows o'erspread,And his brown locks curl'd graceful on his head;Yet might observers in his speaking eyeSome observation, some acuteness spy;The friendly thought it keen, the treacherous

deem'd it sly.Yet not a crime could foe or friend detect,His actions all were, like his speech, correct;And they who jested on a mind so sound,Upon his virtues must their laughter found;Chaste, sober, solemn, and devout they namedHim who was thus, and not of this ashamed.Such were the virtues Jonas found in oneIn whom he warmly wish'd to find a son:Three years had pass'd since he had Sybil seen;But she was doubtless what she once had been,Lovely and mild, obedient and discreet;The pair must love whenever they should meet;Then ere the widow or her son should chooseSome happier maid, he would explain his views:Now she, like him, was politic and shrewd,With strong desire of lawful gain embued;To all he said, she bow'd with much respect,Pleased to comply, yet seeming to reject;Cool and yet eager, each admired the strengthOf the opponent, and agreed at length:As a drawn battle shows to each a force,Powerful as his, he honours it of course;So in these neighbours, each the power discern'd,And gave the praise that was to each return'd.Jonas now ask'd his daughter--and the Aunt,Though loth to lose her, was obliged to grant: -But would not Sybil to the matron cling,And fear to leave the shelter of her wing?No! in the young there lives a love of change,And to the easy they prefer the strange!Then, too, the joys she once pursued with zeal,From whist and visits sprung, she ceased to feel:When with the matrons Sybil first sat down,To cut for partners and to stake her crown,This to the youthful maid preferment seem'd,Who thought what woman she was then esteem'd;But in few years, when she perceived, indeed,The real woman to the girl succeed,No longer tricks and honours fill'd her mind,But other feelings, not so well defined;She then reluctant grew, and thought it hardTo sit and ponder o'er an ugly card;Rather the nut-tree shade the nymph preferr'd,Pleased with the pensive gloom and evening bird;Thither, from company retired, she tookThe silent walk, or read the fav'rite book.The father's letter, sudden, short, and kind,Awaked her wonder, and disturb'd her mind;She found new dreams upon her fancy seize,Wild roving thoughts and endless reveries.The parting came;--and when the Aunt perceivedThe tears of Sybil, and how much she grieved -To love for her that tender grief she laid,That various, soft, contending passions made.When Sybil rested in her father's arms,His pride exulted in a daughter's charms;A maid accomplish'd he was pleased to find,Nor seem'd the form more lovely than the mind:But when the fit of pride and fondness fled,He saw his judgment by his hopes misled;High were the lady's spirits, far more freeHer mode of speaking than a maid's should be;Too much, as Jonas thought, she seem'd to know,And all her knowledge was disposed to show;'Too gay her dress, like theirs who idly doteOn a young coxcomb or a coxcomb's coat;In foolish spirits when our friends appear,And vainly grave when not a man is near.'Thus Jonas, adding to his sorrow blame,And terms disdainful to a Sister's name:'The sinful wretch has by her arts deniedThe ductile spirit of my darling child.''The maid is virtuous,' said the dame--Quoth he,'Let her give proof, by acting virtuously:Is it in gaping when the Elders pray?In reading nonsense half a summer's day?In those mock forms that she delights to trace,Or her loud laughs in Hezekiah's face?She--O Susannah!--to the world belongs;She loves the follies of its idle throngs,And reads soft tales of love, and sings love's

soft'ning songs.But, as our friend is yet delay'd in town,We must prepare her till the Youth comes down:You shall advise the maiden; I will threat;Her fears and hopes may yield us comfort yet.'Now the grave father took the lass aside,Demanding sternly, 'Wilt thou be a bride?'She answer'd, calling up an air sedate,'I have not vow'd against the holy state.''No folly, Sybil,' said the parent; 'knowWhat to their parents virtuous maidens owe:A worthy, wealthy youth, whom I approve,Must thou prepare to honour and to love.Formal to thee his air and dress may seem,But the good youth is worthy of esteem:Shouldst thou with rudeness treat him; of disdainShould he with justice or of slight complain,Or of one taunting speech give certain proof,Girl! I reject thee from my sober roof.''My aunt,' said Sybil,' will with pride protectOne whom a father can for this reject;Nor shall a formal, rigid, soul-less boyMy manners alter, or my views destroy!'Jonas then lifted up his hands on high,And, utt'ring something 'twixt a groan and sigh,Left the determined maid, her doubtful mother by.'Hear me,' she said; 'incline thy heart, my

child,And fix thy fancy on a man so mild:Thy father, Sybil, never could be movedBy one who loved him, or by one he loved.Union like ours is but a bargain madeBy slave and tyrant--he will be obey'd;Then calls the quiet, comfort--but thy YouthIs mild by nature, and as frank as truth.''But will he love?' said Sybil; 'I am toldThat these mild creatures are by nature cold.''Alas!' the matron answer'd, 'much I dreadThat dangerous love by which the young are led!That love is earthy; you the creature prize,And trust your feelings and believe your eyes:Can eyes and feelings inward worth descry?No! my fair daughter, on our choice rely!Your love, like that display'd upon the stage,Indulged is folly, and opposed is rage; -More prudent love our sober couples show,All that to mortal beings, mortals owe;All flesh is grass--before you give a heart,Remember, Sybil, that in death you part;And should your husband die before your love,What needless anguish must a widow prove!No! my fair child, let all such visions cease;Yield but esteem, and only try for peace.''I must be loved,' said Sybil; 'I must seeThe man in terrors who aspires to me;At my forbidding frown his heart must ache,His tongue must falter, and his frame must shake:And if I grant him at my feet to kneel,What trembling, fearful pleasure must he feel;Nay, such the raptures that my smiles inspire,That reason's self must for a time retire.''Alas! for good Josiah,' said the dame,'These wicked thoughts would fill his soul with

shame;He kneel and tremble at a thing of dust!He cannot, child:'--the Child replied, 'He must.'They ceased: the matron left her with a frown;So Jonas met her when the Youth came down:'Behold,' said he, 'thy future spouse attends;Receive him, daughter, as the best of friends;Observe, respect him--humble be each word,That welcomes home thy husband and thy lord.'Forewarn'd, thought Sybil, with a bitter smile,I shall prepare my manner and my style.Ere yet Josiah enter'd on his task,The father met him--'Deign to wear a maskA few dull days, Josiah--but a few -It is our duty, and the sex's due;I wore it once, and every grateful wifeRepays it with obedience through her life:Have no regard to Sybil's dress, have noneTo her pert language, to her flippant tone:Henceforward thou shalt rule unquestion'd and

alone;And she thy pleasure in thy looks shall seek -How she shall dress, and whether she may speak.'A sober smile returned the Youth, and said,'Can I cause fear, who am myself afraid?'Sybil, meantime, sat thoughtful in her room,And often wonder'd--'Will the creature come?Nothing shall tempt, shall force me to bestowMy hand upon him,--yet I wish to know.'The door unclosed, and she beheld her sireLead in the Youth, then hasten to retire;'Daughter, my friend--my daughter, friend,' he

cried,And gave a meaning look, and stepp'd aside:That look contained a mingled threat and prayer,'Do take him, child,--offend him if you dare.'The couple gazed--were silent, and the maidLook'd in his face, to make the man afraid;The man, unmoved, upon the maiden castA steady view--so salutation pass'd:But in this instant Sybil's eye had seenThe tall fair person, and the still staid mien;The glow that temp'rance o'er the cheek had spread,Where the soft down half veil'd the purest red;And the serene deportment that proclaim'dA heart unspotted, and a life unblamed:But then with these she saw attire too plain,The pale brown coat, though worn without a stain;The formal air, and something of the prideThat indicates the wealth it seems to hide;And looks that were not, she conceived, exemptFrom a proud pity, or a sly contempt.Josiah's eyes had their employment too,Engaged and soften'd by so bright a view;A fair and meaning face, an eye of fire,That check'd the bold, and made the free retire:But then with these he marked the studied dressAnd lofty air, that scorn or pride express;With that insidious look, that seem'd to hideIn an affected smile the scorn and pride;And if his mind the virgin's meaning caught,He saw a foe with treacherous purpose fraught -Captive the heart to take, and to reject it,

caught.Silent they sat--thought Sybil, that he seeksSomething, no doubt; I wonder if he speaks:Scarcely she wonder'd, when these accents fellSlow in her ear--'Fair maiden, art thou well?''Art thou physician?' she replied; 'my hand,My pulse, at least, shall be at thy command.'She said--and saw, surprised, Josiah kneel,And gave his lips the offer'd pulse to feel;The rosy colour rising in her cheek,Seem'd that surprise unmix'd with wrath to speak;Then sternness she assumed, and--'Doctor, tell;Thy words cannot alarm me--am I well?''Thou art,' said he; 'and yet thy dress so

light,I do conceive, some danger must excite:''In whom?' said Sybil, with a look demure:'In more,' said he, 'than I expect to cure; -I, in thy light luxuriant robe beholdWant and excess, abounding and yet cold;Here needed, there display'd, in many a wanton

fold;Both health and beauty, learned authors show,From a just medium in our clothing flow.''Proceed, good doctor; if so great my need,What is thy fee? Good doctor! pray proceed.''Large is my fee, fair lady, but I takeNone till some progress in my cure I make:Thou hast disease, fair maiden; thou art vain;Within that face sit insult and disdain;Thou art enamour'd of thyself; my artCan see the naughty malice of thy heart:With a strong pleasure would thy bosom move,Were I to own thy power, and ask thy love;And such thy beauty, damsel, that I might,But for thy pride, feel danger in thy sight,And lose my present peace in dreams of vain

delight.''And can thy patients,' said the nymph 'endurePhysic like this? and will it work a cure?''Such is my hope, fair damsel; thou, I find,Hast the true tokens of a noble mind;But the world wins thee, Sybil, and thy joysAre placed in trifles, fashions, follies, toys;Thou hast sought pleasure in the world around,That in thine own pure bosom should be found;Did all that world admire thee, praise and love,Could it the least of nature's pains remove?Could it for errors, follies, sins atone,Or give the comfort, thoughtful and alone?It has, believe me, maid, no power to charmThy soul from sorrow, or thy flesh from harm:Turn then, fair creature, from a world of sin,And seek the jewel happiness within.''Speak'st thou at meeting?' said the nymph; 'thy

speechIs that of mortal very prone to teach;But wouldst thou, doctor, from the patient learnThine own disease?--the cure is thy concern.''Yea, with good will.'--'Then know 'tis thy

complaint,That, for a sinner, thou'rt too much a saint;Hast too much show of the sedate and pure,And without cause art formal and demure:This makes a man unsocial, unpolite;Odious when wrong, and insolent if right.Thou mayst be good, but why should goodness beWrapt in a garb of such formality?Thy person well might please a damsel's eye,In decent habit with a scarlet dye;But, jest apart--what virtue canst thou traceIn that broad brim that hides thy sober face?Does that long-skirted drab, that over-niceAnd formal clothing, prove a scorn of vice?Then for thine accent--what in sound can beSo void of grace as dull monotony?Love has a thousand varied notes to moveThe human heart: --thou mayest not speak of loveTill thou hast cast thy formal ways aside,And those becoming youth and nature tried:Not till exterior freedom, spirit, ease,Prove it thy study and delight to please;Not till these follies meet thy just disdain,While yet thy virtues and thy worth remain.''This is severe!--Oh! maiden wilt not thouSomething for habits, manners, modes, allow?' -'Yes! but allowing much, I much require,In my behalf, for manners, modes, attire!''True, lovely Sybil; and, this point agreed,Let me to those of greater weight proceed:Thy father!'--'Nay,' she quickly interposed,'Good doctor, here our conference is closed!'Then left the Youth, who, lost in his retreat,Pass'd the good matron on her garden-seat;His looks were troubled, and his air, once mildAnd calm, was hurried: --'My audacious child!'Exclaim'd the dame, 'I read what she has doneIn thy displeasure--Ah! the thoughtless one:But yet, Josiah, to my stern good manSpeak of the maid as mildly as you can:Can you not seem to woo a little whileThe daughter's will, the father to beguile?So that his wrath in time may wear away;Will you preserve our peace, Josiah? say.''Yes! my good neighbour,' said the gentle youth,'Rely securely on my care and truth;And should thy comfort with my efforts cease,And only then,--perpetual is thy peace.'The dame had doubts: she well his virtues knew,His deeds were friendly, and his words were true:'But to address this vixen is a taskHe is ashamed to take, and I to ask.'Soon as the father from Josiah learn'dWhat pass'd with Sybil, he the truth discern'd.'He loves,' the man exclaim'd, 'he loves, 'tis

plain,The thoughtless girl, and shall he love in vain?She may be stubborn, but she shall be tried,Born as she is of wilfulness and pride.'With anger fraught, but willing to persuade,The wrathful father met the smiling maid:'Sybil,' said he, 'I long, and yet I dreadTo know thy conduct--hath Josiah fled?And, grieved and fretted by thy scornful air,For his lost peace, betaken him to prayer?Couldst thou his pure and modest mind distressBy vile remarks upon his speech, address,Attire, and voice?'--'All this I must confess.''Unhappy child! what labour will it costTo win him back!'--'I do not think him lost.''Courts he then (trifler!) insult and disdain?' -'No; but from these he courts me to refrain.''Then hear me, Sybil: should Josiah leaveThy father's house?'--'My father's child would

grieve.''That is of grace, and if he come againTo speak of love?'--'I might from grief refrain.''Then wilt thou, daughter, our design embrace?' -'Can I resist it, if it be of Grace?''Dear child in three plain words thy mind express:Wilt thou have this good youth?'--'Dear Father!